


I Knew it was Wrong

by deviantfan



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deviantfan/pseuds/deviantfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I got kidnapped when I was eight by a psycho who kept me in his basement and tortured me. Thing is, I used to be a boy, right? ‘Til one day, he decided to cut off my dick. I got all sorts of shit going on down there,” Theon grinned at the suddenly pale, sick man, “Cool, right?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s hot. Boiling-ly stupidly damp shirts sticky skin black-out hot. Theon sheds his shirt on the way to the kitchen, spends a good few minutes with his head stuck in the freezer, before retrieving a popsicle. On the way to his room, he loses his pants, eager to get the tight jeans away from his rapidly roasting legs. He kicks on the fan, sticks the popsicle in his mouth and flops on the bed.

Fucking hell.

Theon never thought he’d miss Winterfell. But Jesus Christ this was terrible. He wasn’t cut out for heat. When he’d lived with his family, the ocean breeze kept them chilled. Then Winterfell, where it never rose above seventy degrees. He had never experienced heat like this.

He sucked eagerly on his frozen treat, relishing in the drip of the sweet ice down his throat.

In the silence of the muggy summer air, he heard the apartment door open and close. The cadence of footsteps down the hall.

Then.

“God dammit Theon!”

He looked up. Robb was in the doorway to his bedroom, hot blush on his cheeks. Theon withdrew the popsicle from his mouth, “What?”

“You’re—you’re fucking _naked_ ,” his foster brother said, aghast.

He looked down at himself, the swell of his chest, flat of his stomach, before shrugging, “So? I got panties on and its fucking hot outside. I was gonna get heatstroke.”

“That’s not the point,” he flailed, “Someone else coulda walked in here! You’re a—you’re a woman Theon. It’s not decent. It’s not _safe_.”

Melted syrup dripped down his hand. Theon paused to lick it off before saying, “Trust me, what I got goin’ on under my panties is rape protection enough.”

Robb’s cheeks are still blistering red, putting his hair to shame. He says awkwardly, “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“No,” Theon smiles sharply, “Not as bad as it was. Anyway, what you bursting in here for?”

“A bunch of my mates from uni are going up to the lake for a weekend to party. Everyone is taking off in like, ten minutes. You wanna go?” he looks away.

“Fuck yeah,” he hops off the bed and shoves the popsicle into Robb’s hand, “Here, hold this for me while I get changed.”

Theon rummages through his closet and pulls free a bikini. Robb spins around instantly. Theon strips off his underwear and pulls on the bottoms. The top he holds on, “Hey, tie the back for me, will you?”

They swap popsicle again, while Robb fiddles with the ties. Theon takes a long minute to survey himself in the mirror. In the skimpy blue swimsuit, a range of his scars can be seen. The long stripe marks of whipping down his back, a collection of cigarette burns on his arms, a few other miscellaneous scars. Most of them have faded enough that they can only be seen if one looks hard. However, the small triangle of fabric covering his crotch area isn’t enough to cover the full area of skin grafts and reconstruction. A solid two inches of discolored skin peeks above the waistband.

Theon puts a hand to the skin, covering it, before squinting again at his reflection. When he can’t pick out his scars on site, he doesn’t make a bad looking woman. Slender, but with a well-toned body. Slight hips, small breasts, pouty pink lips, and blonde hair that never quite recovered from going white.

He grabs a loose white sheer dress for a cover-up and spins to Robb, “Okay, let’s go.”

 

The summer night is only slightly less sweltering. The group is gathered around a bonfire, in varying degrees of drunkenness. Theon is sprawled out on a blanket, beer in hand, sipping as he listens to the gossiping.

Some of the people here he knows in passing, from his visits to campus with Robb. A few names he recognizes from stories, but most, he doesn’t know.

One of the ones he doesn’t know flops down onto the blanket next to him and squints drunkenly at him, “You’re Robb’s whatever, right? Thea or somethin’.”

“Foster sister. And its Theon,” he corrects.

“Right, sure sure,” he slurs, “So, you got a lot of scars. Like a lot. We’ve been betting on how you got ‘em. Wanna share?”

Theon downs his remaining beer, angrily, before casting a blistering look at his companion, “You want to know how I got my scars.”

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Okay,” Theon smile is brittle, “Fine. I got these,” he presents the cigarette burns, “From my father and older brothers putting out their cigarettes on me. I got these,” he gestures to a spot on his hip, “From my uncle’s dog after he sicced him on me. Let’s see, the ones on my back are from whippings. I got a few from stabbing. Oh and can’t forget this one,” he gestures to his crotch, “That’s a great story.

“I got kidnapped when I was eight by a psycho who kept me in his basement and tortured me. Thing is, I used to be a boy, right? ‘Til one day, he decided to cut off my dick. I got all sorts of shit going on down there,” he grinned at the suddenly pale, sick man, “Cool, right?”

“You’re joking,” he chokes out.

“Of course,” he said, “Dumbass.”

Behind them, someone laughed. Theon looked over his shoulder. A blonde man was standing behind them, still chuckling. He was one of the few that Theon recognized. Jaime Lannister. His twin was Cersei. A woman that Robb despised, calling her a cold conniving bitch. On the other hand, Robb held a certain amount of respect for Jaime, though still not affection.

“You’re fucking sick,” his interrogator spat as he scrambled away.

Jaime took his spot and offered Theon a cup, “He deserved that. What an asshole.”

Theon accepted it and took a huge swig. It burned. “Thanks.”

“You’re Theon, right?” the blond asked.

He nodded, “And you’re Jaime Lannister.”

“Guilty as charged. So,” he takes a gulp from his own cup before asking, “How did you really get them? C’mon,” he added with a grin, “You couldn’t have expected me not to ask.”

“Nah, I guess not,” Theon shrugged and picked his usual lie, “It was a car accident.”

“Right,” Jaime nods, eyebrows up, lips quirked in a half-smile that was so damn charming Theon couldn’t decide between punching him or jumping him.

Fifteen minutes later, far enough down the beach that the bonfire is a flicker, Theon’s nose is brushing Jaime’s hipbone and he’s decided.

Fingers wind into his blonde curls and tug. Nails scratch his scalp. Above him, Jaime gasps out a choked, “Gods.”

Arousal is a burn between his legs. A slow suffocation of body parts long removed.

The silk soft skin drags against his tongue as Jaime’s hips stutter and he lets out another long moan. The bitterness of his spunk spills down Theon’s throat.

He draws away, wiping spit and semen from his swollen lips with a casual thumb, before looking up Jaime. In the light of the moon and the flickering from the campfire, his hair looks more copper than gold. Theon spits on the sand.

The taste of shame still coats his tongue.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaime and Theon do not hold hands on the way back to the campfire. There is no cuddling, no kisses and sweet whispers. Theon stands up motions to the campfire. Jaime nods and follows him. That is their interaction in its entirety. 

Robb comes running up to him as soon as he is in the halo of the fire’s light. Theon isn’t sure if it’s his still spit shined swollen lips or the muss of his hair or if he simply knows his foster sister well enough, but he grabs Theon’s hand and hisses, “Really? Jaime Lannister?”

“I take what I can get and at least he’s hot,” he shrugs. 

“They’re going to say—“ Robb bites his tongue, cheeks still red.

Theon cocks his head and juts out his hip, “Say what Robb? Hm?”

“That you’re a—“ he lowers his voice to harsh whisper, “A slut.”

“I am a slut Robby,” he leans forward, a mocking pout on his lips, “That hasn’t bothered you yet.”

For a split second, Theon thinks that Robb might actually hit him. Instead his foster brother grabs his upper arm and begins to tow him back to the cabin. At first, Theon laughs, trying to lighten the mood, “C’mon Robby. What’s up your ass?”

Robb doesn’t answer, just continues to pull him along. “Robb,” Theon says more sharply, trying to maneuver away, “Robb!”

Theon continues to be ignored until he’s been towed not just into the cabin, but into the room the pair were supposed to share for the night. Theon finally twisted free, “Jesus fucking Christ Robb! What’s your problem?!”

“My problem is you, Theon!” he snaps, face red to match his hair, “It’s one thing to walk around the house nude, and make jokes, but it’s an entirely different thing to fuck my friends indiscriminately! Why do you do it? Huh? Are you trying to fuck up my reputation? Do you just not care? Or are you just a stupid fucking slut who can’t control herself!”

Theon’s hackles rise, alcohol and anger fizz under his skin. He spits back, “No Robb. I’m just a stupid ugly freak and my choices were slut or shut in. Surprise, surprise, I picked to be a stupid fucking slut!”

“You’re not ugly Theon. You’re fucking stupid as shit but you aren’t ugly!” 

He can’t help the bitter laugh that spills hysterically from his lips. He yanks the dress off and quickly rips his bikini off. Completely bare, scars catching the fluorescent light, he holds his arms out wide, “Try to get a boner looking at this mess!” tears spring up unbidden, “I’m a fucking Frankenstein. So what if I blow them. At least they’re not talking about my scars anymore.”

Robb is silent. Ominously so. Theon looks at him and, “Holy shit.”

Robb tries to turn away but he grabs his arm. His foster brother looks at him, cheeks flaming red, eyes burning, “You aren’t ugly.”

They’re both drunk. Theon still wants to cry and he doesn’t know what Robb wants but he has a fucking boner and then they’re kissing. Skin on scars too raw for this. Robb is hovering over him in the bed, body suspended between his legs. 

“You aren’t wet,” he croaks. 

“Can’t get wet dumbass,” he whispers, everything just as raw and holy shit too vulnerable in front of his fucking brother. “Just spit on it.”

The spit is wet and warm and drips down his crack onto the sheets. This isn’t the first time he’s had something in there, but it’s the first penis and fuck the Drowned God it hurts. He digs his nails into Robb’s back. His moans are hot and heady next to his ear. 

They’re too drunk for this. Theon’s too sober for this. There’s blood in his mouth and Robb wants him. 

He feels Robb cum inside him, a sudden relief from the painful drag, and he isn’t entirely sure if he can orgasm but it sure as hell feels good. Robb looks down at him with bright eyes and wet cheeks and slurs, “Sorry.”

Theon squeezes his eyes shut.

The weight is lifted off him and he hears the bed squeak. It isn’t until he hears Robb’s snores that he opens his eyes. His stomach churns and he stumbles to the bathroom and vomits messily into the toilet. Cum drips down his leg onto the tile and he finally cries.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is worried about the discrepancy between Theon's inner and outer pronouns, there is a reason for that and it will be explained. 
> 
> To be continued...


End file.
